


Dust to Dust

by JuxtaposedNova



Category: Open Heart (Visual Novels)
Genre: Anger, Arguing, Competition, F/M, Friendship, He's lucky he's her boss or he'd have his ass handed to him on a platter, Hope, Medicine, Mentor/Protégé, Mutual Pining, Rude Patients, Self-Doubt, Strong Female Characters, no beta we die like spartans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29824617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuxtaposedNova/pseuds/JuxtaposedNova
Summary: Calypso is forced to deal with Nigel Platt, her first P.I.T.A. - and after discovering Ethan’s secret, she can’t help but wonder if he’s punishing her for it. Then again, she was never fond of not voicing her opinion in the name of comfort.
Relationships: Ethan Ramsey/Main Character (Open Heart), Ethan Ramsey/Original Female Character(s)





	Dust to Dust

**Author's Note:**

> Let me in the walls you've built around. We can light a match and burn them down. Let me hold your hand and dance 'round and 'round the flames in front of us.
> 
> If you like the story, feel free to leave kudos or a comment.
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

The soft click of the door behind her muted the cacophony of machines she had just escaped from. Letting out a sigh, she walked through the hallways, greeting the nurses as she passed by their station. They waved back sweetly, thanking her for the box of donuts she had brought in for them when her shift started as a thank you for helping her out with a case.

After signing up for the competition and overcoming her fear of it creating ambivalence within her friend group, she had decided to focus on her patients in order to climb up the ranks. She had seen the way it had motivated her roommates to grow to and from one another – to challenge and better each other into the best doctors they could possibly become.

She was ready to follow them. 

Stopping for a moment, she revised her charts to make sure she had completed all her rounds. Her patients were happy and stable. As she shuffled through the pages, she recognized Dr. Ramsey’s signature in one of them. It was elegant, smooth. It didn’t surprise her. Not in the slightest.

A bittersweet feeling like tangerine rushed through her as she recalled hearing the rupture of his voice when she visited him for answers. His flat had been spotless, almost devoid of any signs of living aside from the imperceptible clutter in various corners. From a cooking book atop the kitchen counter, to the dirty coffee cups in the sink and the blanket resting on the settee.

He had offered her liquor and she had been unable to refuse, letting it burn down her throat and chase away the TV static caressing her mind and demanding her attention like a scorned lover. Watching his long legs bump against his coffee table as he relaxed had only helped to remind her just how tall the man was. Looking up to him was not just merely metaphorical, but physical.

Then answers were delivered to her in the form of his frustration, fear, and loneliness. The way he had spoken about Dr. Banerji had conveyed the depth of his adoration and love for the man.

Family.

It was the very connotation of the word that held a seductive nature to it. There was something whimsical, powerful about it. A sense of belonging, a haven of protection and love. There was something about the concept of it that possessed a beautiful and destructive duality every human alive would eventually experience. The agony of losing those whom you belong to.

Staring into the bottom of his glass, he had uttered something to her.

_“It was like a game I’d mastered…a competition against death I was winning handily.”_

Perhaps it had been the saviour complex tendencies she harboured close to the core of her being, or maybe it had been empathy, maybe it had been the fact that she played the very same game he was so used to winning – but she had offered to help him.

Back then, she had felt something shift between them. Trust built upon and bound by a shared secret and a need to stave off the veil of helplessness. There had been a glimpse of something that crossed their gazes and disappeared, taken away with the tide of the ocean’s rise. A midst of truth and a restraint in the contact of their skin.

And, yet, as she stood before Nigel Platt’s door – she wondered if she had fabricated the memory.

Surely Dr. Ramsey wouldn’t be so cruel as to punish her for discovering his secret.

Acting was second nature to her. Her entire life, she had lived in a house with three walls – glass that allowed the exterior to press against it and admire what laid within. An overdramatic recognition of the weight and power a name could carry. It was a tart sort of amusement, knowing that if she were to pierce her skin, she’d bleed just the same as any other person.

She inhaled, focusing on elongating it as much as she could, and then exhaled – her shoulders dropping as she did so. Tightening her grip on the chart, she pasted on a smile and walked into the room.

Immediately, she was harangued, devalued, and insulted. It had taken a colossal amount of self-control not to snap at the man and tear his ego down right where he rested. She didn’t shy away from conflict.

Instead, she had channelled every yoga breathing and therapy technique she had gathered throughout the span of her life and remained as polite as her unstable and thinning patience allowed. Her knuckles had turned white from her unrelenting grip on his chart. She absentmindedly wondered if it would break under her strength.

A sharp exhale escaped her as she closed the door behind her. Spotting a nurse, she gave her a desperate look and the nurse nodded in understanding.

Her parents had not raised her to take shit from anyone. She was not the kind of person to stand and accept negativity thrown her way. If required, she was the embodiment of chaos, born to bring as much trouble as it was thrown at her.

The curve of her ring pressed against the surface of the chart, crumbling the paper on it, and pushing back into her skin as she locked her grip. Her jaw set instantly and the muscles ground together in her alertness to the tingling tint of the sterile hospital air accosting her, eyes instantly snapping outward with a burning intensity as she set her destination in mind.

But her face was a mask of terrifying neutrality.

She stormed to his office, only to find him studying a chart. It was the unencumbered air around him that served to anger her further and she suddenly had the urge to turn that lackadaisical expression of his into a sneer.

“Dr. Ramsey! We need to talk!” She hissed, loosening her hold on the chart, and coming to stand before him confidently.

“About?” He asked without looking up.

The audacity on this man bewildered her.

“Mr. Platt.” She stated, trying to moderate her voice. “He’s belligerent and rude, and I’d like to be taken off his case.”

At last, he looked up at her with an eyebrow raised in interest. “No.”

“Pardon?” Faltering, she couldn’t help the astonishment tinging her voice as she frowned.

“You’ve had difficult patients before. Keep trying.” He replied with finality, going into his office and shutting the door behind him.

She was left staring at the door in fury, internally cursing his name. A part of her, though, couldn’t deny the sudden rush of attraction she had felt for him when he so easily left her speechless. She had seen his hands around the chart, and they were _big_.

Why the fuck was he so rudely huge all over? His presence itself was enough to make her feel as if she were a girl and not a woman.

Her limbic system deactivated her inhibitions and her survival instinct as she decided her life was no longer worth living and swung the door open, storming in after him.

This did, indeed, catch him off guard. He turned to her. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I want to know why you’re punishing me.” She accused, digging her heels into the plush carpet within his office. “Is it because you enjoy it?”

She dared not mention Dr. Banerji with the door wide open lest someone overhear their argument.

His frown adorned the glare he shot her way. “You need to keep your personal feelings separate from your professional feelings, Dr. Laveau.”

That was bloody rich coming from him.

“I’d think very carefully before you say something to embarrass yourself.” He added, his expression neutralizing as he crossed his arms.

It was her turn to freely display her anger. “Is what I say untrue? You told me you gave me that dreadful patient for a reason!”

“Of course!” He growled, his fists tightening against the sleeves his coat. “To challenge you! To _push_ you!”

“Push me to what?” Her accent emphasized the last word.

“To be the best doctor you can be!” He finally snapped, his arms uncrossing as he took a deep breath before speaking once again. “I selected you for this residency because I saw something special in your application.”

She shook her head to clear her thoughts from the static. “ _You_ selected me?”

Part of her had believed it had been because of the amount of money the hospital believed she could bring with the implications behind her lineage.

“Yes, it was my evaluation that got you matched here. I believed I saw someone who could be truly great.” His gaze grew cold as he gestured at her with his hands. “It’s very rare that I’m wrong, Rookie. But I’m willing to admit when I am...”

She felt the pain of the final blow before he even delivered it.

“…and I think I might have been wrong about you.”

Opening her mouth to respond, she thought better of it. She had allowed her emotions to get the best of her, she had just defied her own boss and mentor. Disappointment clearly drawn on his countenance like a quintessential Renaissance expression, he crossed his arms once again.

She breathed in and out and stared back at him. Shame, it was such a vile thing. It made her feel disconnected and desperate for worthiness. It had the ability to corrode the very fragment of her that believed she was capable of change.

It enveloped her, whispering in her ear things she had fought against in the past.

So, she left wordlessly with her wildfire doused by nothing more than the cooling look of a pair of stormy, star-ornamented icy eyes.

It had driven her to look for solace in one of the many places she knew where to seek it: academia.

Concepts flew past her head faster than she was able to register them, her focus dimming with each page she turned. She was overrun with a marathon of sentences and words she was familiar with, but that were swept away with the foreignism of the feeling tainting her best intentions.

Her last interaction with Dr. Ramsey was burned in the back of her mind, swallowing every excuse she could come up with. She went back to it, trying to determine whether she should’ve said something different, but every time she tried she realized one thing: she didn’t regret it.

Standing up to a superior was not an easy feat, and she was proud of herself for not staying silent. She wasn’t raised to stay silent in the face of injustice.

But to think of the words exchanged and finding meaning in them, it was akin to an attempt at resurrecting a dead economy. She had cashed an intellectual cheque without funds. Perhaps she should’ve taken the mature route and allowed her emotions to be dealt with in a positive manner instead of taking it out on her mentor.

There was nothing more to do but to uncover the mystery behind Nigel’s illness and move on, even if her sense of belonging was disenfranchised.

Drinking the dregs of her fifth cup of coffee, she grimaced at its bitter taste – reminiscing about the quality of the beverage she had shared with Ethan. She returned her attention to her textbook, scouring the pages for anything that could explain the symptoms.

“Mind if I join you?” A cheery, feminine voice spoke from behind her.

Turning to look at the owner, she smiled genuinely for the first time that day. Kyra Santana stood behind her in all her flirty glory, a grin that would make the most bitter of men bite his tongue adorning her countenance. She looked healthier than she had ever seen her.

But despite the physical evidence of healthiness, she couldn’t help the anxiety that took hold of her throat as she immediately blabbered on. “Kyra! What are you doing back here? Is it the cancer? Is something wrong?”

“Whoa! Dial down the doom and gloom there, Dr. Sob Emoji.” Kyra laughed, coming to stand beside her. “I’m in remission.”

The news filled her with warmth. “Congratulations!”

“Just had another checkup. I’ll be coming in a lot for those…” She shrugged, the necklace resting on her collarbone lifting slightly with the movement. With careful scrutiny, Kyra looked her up and down. “No offense, but I definitely look in better shape than you.”

Taking into consideration that her hands were trembling with the unholy amount of caffeine she had consumed, that she had eyebags under her eyes and her eyeliner was faintly smudged, and that the curls on her head were bouncing on every direction – she knew Kyra’s statement to be truer than anything else.

She couldn’t find it in herself to lie. “I know, I’m knackered. My shift is over but instead of going home, I’m here reading until my eyes bleed and my brain melts into the table.”

“You should definitely get that looked at.” Her friend replied with mirth before her expression softened. “Listen, I don’t want to be _that_ cancer survivor, but…it _did_ make me realize that life is short. We only get so many chances, you know? But maybe…you need that lesson more than I did.”

“Is it that obvious?” She lamented, digging the heel of her palms into her eyes and only ruining her makeup further.

Kyra laughed, shaking her head. “Let’s chalk it up to my incredible intuition. Anyway, there’s an ice cream shop not too far from here. They make a triple chocolate gelato that’s almost literally to die for. You can take my word on that.”

She looked down at her textbook – the words and concepts swimming in her head mockingly from the surface and waving down at her as she drowned. The possibility of a break didn’t sound so bad.

And yet, she could still feel the icy burn of Dr. Ramsey’s disappointed look on the back of her head. She let her head fall against the table and over her book with a thud and groaned.

“I’d love to, Kyra, but I _must_ find out what’s wrong with this man before I become a patient of this hospital myself.” She excused, turning her head to the side to look at Kyra in dismay.

Kyra placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, we can take a rain check. But…for you to turn down _gelato_ , you’d have to have, like, twelve different things wrong with you. So, I recommend you do get checked into the hospital.”

“Twelve different things wrong?” She echoed as her mind raced between Kyra, Ethan, and Nigel’s confusing symptoms.

She huffed out a laugh and lifted her head. Suddenly, it dawned on her. It fit like the final piece of a complex puzzle.

“Of course!” She exclaimed, standing up quickly. The chair fell to the ground and she quickly put it back in its place as she closed her books and looked back at Kyra. “Thank you, Kyra! You’re a genius!”

It had taken a few tests, and a treatment plan, but she was able to diagnose Nigel’s disease. Standing beside Ethan and Ines, she felt her confidence slowly returning to her body, the thrill of having solved the case running through her veins. And despite Mr. Platt’s dismissive nature, she had been truly happy to be able to help him. Even as he told her that he never wanted to see her face again.

Truthfully, she’d loathe to be his mirror.

“Mr. Platt, I might suggest viewing this as a new lease on life.” Ethan had come to her defence. “Perhaps a life where you don’t make everyone around you miserable.”

“Dr. Ramsey!” Ines had gasped, her hand covering her mouth.

Nigel’s face had turned redder than the lacy underwear she liked to wear on dates. “I’ll report you! I want to speak to your manager!”

Calypso couldn’t help the automatic comparison between the man and the women who came into restaurants demanding a better service when they were the ones who made everyone’s life harder. It had taken everything in her not to snort.

“Go ahead.” Ethan smiled mischievously, a gaiety gleam to his eyes. “Maybe she can’t talk to you like that, but I sure as hell can.”

He exited the room and Ines followed, only to meet with Bryce strutting into the room with a wink as he caught sight of her. She smiled at him, winking back and following her seniors.

“Someone call for a laparoscopic surgery?” Bryce asked Nigel cheerfully, pushing a hand through his hair.

“Oh, great, who invited the Ken doll?” Nigel hissed before burping.

Pleased with herself and ready to take a shower and fall asleep until Christmas came around, she handed her charts to the nurses and wiped her hands on her coat before heading off down the hall.

“Rookie.” Ethan called, his voice booming in the hall despite the conversations surrounding them.

Stopping in her tracks, she winced. Shame filled her as she recalled their last encounter. Slowly, she turned to him, forcing herself to look him in the eyes and keep a neutral expression.

“So, you figured it out in the end.” He stated, something she couldn’t quite place lacing his tone. “And you kept things professional.”

His past words came back to her. “I guess I just needed a _push_.”

“Maybe you’re not quite so hopeless, then.” Despite the serious expression on his face, she finally identified what she hadn’t been able to place previously.

He wasn’t smiling, but the pride in his eyes told her she hadn’t let him down and that she had handled it as best as she could.

Moments such as those gave him away. She had been learning the way he communicated through his eyes, through subtle movements of his lips, through his body. It was how he leaned closer to her when he wasn’t paying attention, when he went out of his way to guide or challenge her. It was the weight of his gaze on her as she passed him through the halls.

A facsimile she’d catch herself indulging in against her better judgement – because there was an awareness of the schism it would create should she allow hope to retcon the narrative they had built together. However delicate it may be.

So, she allowed herself to pretend to not know that she hadn’t broken down his walls and then built them back up with her inside of them.

And as he walked away, she was left with the lingering feeling of something more.

With a smile, she watched him go.

**Author's Note:**

> If you wish to read my stories before I post them here, find me on Tumblr:
> 
> https://droppedmydamncroissant.tumblr.com/
> 
> I'll be happy to add you to my tag list.


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